


Dressing Gown

by MacPye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacPye/pseuds/MacPye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg finds Mycroft on the balcony, in his dressing gown only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dressing Gown

It was the morning after the first night Greg had spent at Mycroft’s Bayswater flat, but only barely so.

Greg half-woke in the grey light of dawn, aware that the curtains of the bedroom were opened to let this particular light in. He was also aware of the chill of a breeze caressing his bare arm as it rested on the duvet. He groggily sat up and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

One of the doors to the balcony was open, the linen curtain which hung next to the opened door, trailing into the room in gusts, the gale not quite catching it.

Greg got up to close the door, but as he was about to do so, he caught sight of something which made his breath stall in his throat.

Mycroft was out on the balcony, obviously only wrapped in his midnight blue silk dressing gown. It was moving about him in a mixture of aggressive and tender caresses of Mycroft’s skin. Mycroft’s head was tipped back, and his hair was blowing like a shiny brown halo around it. The fabric of the dressing gown tensed and relaxed to show the shape of his shoulders, arms, thighs… In a particularly strong gust, the back of his dressing gown blew up to reveal  glimpses of bare skin.

Greg realised he was staring, when he suddenly caught a glimpse of Mycroft’s crotch. His eyes travelled up across the expanse of Mycroft’s blue-clad abdomen, the slightly pinkish skin of his freckled chest, to the intrigued smirk on Mycroft’s lips. Greg licked his own before he could stop himself.

It was as if Mycroft was seducing him all over again. Greg felt the blood rush towards his crotch, as Mycroft kept his intense gaze levelled at him and slowly undid the sash belt. With a snap of his wrist, the sash flew out of his long fingers, both ends fluttering in the wind like the long, ornamental tail feathers of a bird of paradise.

Greg felt faint at the sight of Mycroft’s long-limbed, pale body, framed by the streaming blue silk. Mycroft languidly raised his arms towards Greg, and took a step backwards into the gales, beckoning to Greg with his eyebrows and his out-stretched fingers. Greg swallowed, and stepped out onto the concrete balcony floor with his bare feet, suddenly very much aware of how naked he was. But he always realised Mycroft would not suggest anything like this if he didn’t think it safe enough.

Mycroft’s arms and dressing gown wrapped themselves around Greg’s body, his skin meeting the soft solidity of Mycroft’s chest and abdomen, the silk slapping against his thighs, side and arms, as he wrapped them around Mycroft’s waist, the back of the gown pressing against his arms.

Mycroft’s lips met his in a wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, tongues pressing together in the same way their growing erections did. Mycroft gyrated his hips, and Greg gasped into his open mouth. Mycroft’s hands kneaded Greg’s back, and Greg forcefully grabbed Mycroft’s buttocks, which made Mycroft buck his involuntarily, and Greg felt pre-come trickle across his belly. He groaned gutturally.

The friction of the silk, and Mycroft’s smoothly-haired body pressed against his, the agonising friction of his cock hot against Mycroft’s, the slightly chilly gales playing over his exposed arse – it was too, too much. With his cries muffled by Mycroft’s warm, wet mouth, Greg came in violent spurts over Mycroft’s belly and dressing gown.

Mycroft pressed himself even closer against Greg, burying his face in the crook of Greg’s neck, his hot breath ghosting across the skin of Greg’s nape. His cock pressed between Greg’s thighs, and with a few quick, jerky movements of his hips, he came, his come sticking to the skin of Greg’s arse.

They stood slumped together in the gales for a few moments, catching their breaths. Mycroft slowly rubbed his long-fingered hands across Greg’s slightly cold back, trying to bring some warmth to it, although Greg thought Mycroft’s oddly touched smile warmed him from deep inside his chest.

Mycroft finally spoke. “Let’s get ourselves warmed up in the shower.”

“I like that suggestion,” grinned Greg, shivering against Mycroft’s chest.

And although they closed out the wind when they closed the balcony door, gales still swept through Greg’s mind as Mycroft gently lathered him with shower gel. 


End file.
